JOHN AND MIRIAM
Chapter Seven
John and Miriam walked out onto the
third-class deck. Miriam shivered slightly in the cool night breeze, and John
put his arm around her, pulling her close. They made their way over to the
railing. John hadn't spoken since they had left the table. Absently, he leaned
against the railing, his arms still around Miriam.
"Penny for your thoughts," Miriam
spoke, leaning out over the railing and gazing at the black expanse of water
below.
"What language were you speaking?"
he asked, turning to look at her.
"French," she replied, surprised.
"I thought you would recognize it."
"It sounded somewhat familiar, but where
I'm from there are a lot of immigrants, and I never learned to really
understand any language except English."
"There's a lot they don't teach you in
working class schools."
John shrugged. "True, but I learned
enough to make a living. I think I did pretty well, even without a fancy
education." His voice had taken on a bit of an edge.
Miriam noticed. "John, I'm sorry. I
didn't mean to insult your background. I just think that there's a lot of good
skills that those schools could be teaching, but they aren't. We all deserve an
equal education, and equal opportunities in life."
John relaxed, forgiving Miriam for her
unintentional slight. "Doesn't everyone have those opportunities in
America? That's the impression I got from listening to people who were going to
immigrate."
Miriam frowned slightly, then shook her head.
"I wish that America really was the land of opportunity that it's made out
to be, but it's not. For all that people talk about equality, there's a deeply
ingrained class consciousness. Maybe not as great as in England, but it's there
nonetheless."
"But, surely, there must be some things
that are better--"
Miriam shook her head. "A few things,
maybe. America is a much younger country than England, so customs aren't so
sanctified by time. There's more space, too, so people don't have to fight so
hard for everything. But there's a lot of inequality, too. The people on
top--people like my father--try to maximize their profits as much as possible,
and they don't care who they hurt. If they can make an extra dollar, they'll
fire someone who is struggling to survive, and hire someone else who will do
the job more cheaply."
"Then perhaps you should blame the
people who take the jobs, rather than the owners."
Miriam just looked at him. "John, if you
were a new arrival to America, not speaking much English, without many
marketable skills, wouldn't you do whatever was necessary to keep yourself and
your family alive? That's why many people take those jobs. They don't come to
America with the intent of pushing people out of their jobs. They come to find
opportunity. For many, those ill-paying sweatshop jobs are a great opportunity.
Many had little or no money at home, and those jobs look really good to them. I
blame the owners because they don't care who they're hurting. Everyone deserves
a good chance at life, but the people in charge only care about themselves."
"The owners need money, too."
"But not as much as they're getting.
It's obscene that people are going hungry while the rich throw lavish parties,
live in expensive houses, and buy things that they don't need, that they'll
often never use. And all the while they're doing these things, they look down
their noses at those less fortunate. Many speak of Social Darwinism, the idea
that the poor are inferior. They say this despite the fact that many in their
own ranks were once poor themselves, or are descended from poor immigrants and
laborers."
John thought for a moment. Some of what
Miriam said did make sense, but he wasn't so sure that the rich were really so
bad. There were so many rumors of the land of opportunity--America--that he
felt that some of them had to be true. "Miriam, might your view not
be--"
His words were cut off by the sound of
terrified screams coming from the stern. Wordlessly, he and Miriam looked at
each other, then set off running toward the back of ship. By the time they came
within view of the stern, the source of the screams--a young woman from first
class--had been pulled back over the railing by a young man from third class.
Miriam didn't recognize her at first, with her wild hair and streaked makeup,
but then recognized Rose Dewitt Bukater. Both of them stood back as two sailors
came running, not wanting to interfere. Miriam was stunned as Caledon Hockley,
Rose's fiancé, came rushing out and began shouting at the young man, who was
being hand-cuffed.
"That sanctimonious--"
John clapped a hand over Miriam's mouth, not
wanting to attract attention. Miriam jerked her head away.
"They're arresting him--when he just
saved her life!"
John noticed something else, though--the
young woman was defending her helper against her fiancé. After a moment of
discussion, the young man was released, and Hockley began leading his fiancée
back inside. John watched for a moment longer, as something else was said, then
he and Miriam turned and slipped silently away through the darkness. After a
moment, John spoke.
"You see, Miriam? Not all of the rich
are horrible."
Miriam muttered something unflattering about
Hockley under her breath as she followed John back inside.